


Winding You Up

by hysterikall



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Bottom!Frank, Dirty Talk, Facials, Frank being a hoe, Frerard, Light BDSM, M/M, NSFW, Oral, Sexual Frustration, Slash, Someone take my laptop away from me, Top!Gerard, choking fetish, fluff at the end, spitting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-10-10 02:57:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17417741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hysterikall/pseuds/hysterikall
Summary: Frank just needs his suit fitted, without the added... frustration.-'“Can’t I, um- just wear my wedding suit?”He heard Ray let out a chuckle and Frank cracked a smile. It wasn’t going to happen, they had to be on brand; identical suits for the purpose of making this day very shitty and very unpleasant for Frank. He’d rather wear the Fun Ghoul get up.'





	Winding You Up

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic in 8 YEARS. Yes, you read that right. Yes, I'm back in bandom hell. CCW, but please be nice. Inspired by MCR's identical suit ensemble at the 2011 NME Awards. Some online pals and I deduced that the guys must have gone to the same place, possibly at the same time... and, you know, a one-shot ensued. 
> 
> Enjoy! 
> 
> Hysterikal x

 Winding You Up.

 

* * *

 

“So, you can’t do the measurements today?”

“Apologies sir, however with the five of you and only one of me, it would mean multiple visits and possibly a higher fee.”  


Frank let out a subtle sigh as not to externally show any signs of discontent. He hated these formalities. He pondered over the label’s insistence that the brand had to be Finch & Sons and that all of them wear identical suits. It felt a little… Beatles-y.  


“Can’t I..”  


The prim and proper tailor raised an eyebrow, hands clasped together.  


“Can’t I, um- just wear my wedding suit?”  


He heard Ray let out a chuckle and Frank cracked a smile. It wasn’t going to happen, they had to be on brand; identical suits for the purpose of making this day very shitty and very unpleasant for Frank. He’d rather wear the Fun Ghoul get up. The young tailor was not only very good at making Frank feel old and out of touch, but babbling on about the precisionist process that goes into making the suits. He explained that it could not all be whisked together in a matter of hours.  


“- so, evidently, Rome wasn’t built in a day!”  


The quiffed man flashed his dazzlingly white teeth to match the dazzlingly irritating aura. Frank stepped away from the back of the boutique and went to join his bandmates who were presumably booking in measuring days with the receptionist.  


“Can’t she do it?” Frank turned back and asked.  


The tailor shook his head.  


With a perky voice, the receptionist asked Frank if he wanted to get in his measurements today and his bandmates the following days. With hesitance, he agreed. The lady smiled and led Frank to the tailor, explained the ordeal to them both - and offered them a coffee or wine, to which Frank obviously chose coffee - then proceeded to let the tailor take Frank to the measuring booth behind the front of the store. He had the tape around his neck like a cliche, alongside an overpowering perfume probably to mask the scent of sweat from the overbearing LA heat.  


“You can keep your clothes on, don’t worry.”  


Frank hoped he was a damn good tailor because he certainly couldn’t deduct that Frank was a married man and had had a suit fitted before.  


“Spread your feet just a little more - that’s it. Arms up.”  


He didn’t even know what color they were going for, but anything but black would be a bad move on his manager’s part.  


The tailor started wrapping and winding the tape measure around Frank’s wrists as he meticulously counted and recorded the numbers.  


“So, your manager has requested a black tie get up with a muted satin finish-”  


Frank nodded and pretended to care out of politeness; it’s what he did best.  


“- We offer belts, shoelaces, that sorta thing to tie the look together.”  


“Whatever my manager said is what we’re getting.”  


Franks' arms were aching already.  


The tailor made an affirming noise and continued his work. Franks' eyes wandered around the room: it was opulent yet chic, a high ceiling lit by a chandelier the size of his couch, several potted plants stood beside Victorian-esque mannequins (one headless) and mahogany shelves stuffed with fabrics and the like. It was very LA. Quirky, clashing, yet somehow balanced. His eyes met his reflection in the mirror.

God, he thought, I really look like I don’t want to be here.  


The silence was broken by a knocking on the door.  


“Frank?” It was Gerard.  


The tailor asked Frank if he would allow his fellow bandmate to come in, to which he obliged. He verbally beckoned Gerard inside.  


“Try not to move, sir-”  


Gerard let out a ‘wow’ as he walked in, Frank spotting two coffees in his hands in the mirror’s reflection. He came to Franks side, the coffee's aroma filling his nose and taunting his caffeine addiction. Gerard held up the coffee towards Frank who was currently uncomfortably T-posing as his wrists were bound by annoyingly thin paper. Frank furrowed his brows; what an airhead.  


Frank said thanks as Gerard simultaneously let out an 'I'll put it over there', placing it on a low coffee table. He perched onto an empty stool as he held his coffee, blowing on it; sipping every so often. He fit right in. Gerard was always an east-coast kid yet in his now late 30s, his move to LA made more sense to Frank. The sunglasses permanently stuck to his face, the vibrant red hair, his love for artisan pastries and crystal-healing seminars; Frank couldn't be upset that Gerard preferred LA to New York - it was just so him.  


Now with an audience, Frank stiffly moved his joints and turned his body as the tailor commanded. He felt like a puppet, and not even in a metaphorical sense. Every now and then as he pirouetted for his tape measure captor, he glanced at Gerard who was mindlessly scrolling on his phone. It was a scroll Frank was familiar with: the 'I'm reading my Twitter mentions' scroll. Gerard's face read unimpressed.  


"Keep your head forward, please."  


Suddenly, the young fashionista was nose-to-nose with Frank, draping the measuring tool across his shoulders. His eyes were fixated on Frank's scorpion tattoo for a moment.  


...  


"7 legs?"  


"It cost 40 bucks."  


"Ah."  


The room fell silent once again, sans the slight chewing sounds of Gerard's gum.  


Gerard giggled.  


"What?" Frank asked, knowing better than to turn around and look.  


"Grayson calls Bruce a 'musty-’ uh, ‘musty bitch’ in the latest Nightwing."  


Of course, Frank thought, comics.  


The tailor then slowly guided Frank around back towards to face the mirror. Despite the blazing AC, Frank was sweating slightly; what a great day to wear gray.  


The tailor stood in front of him, holding up the tape from one end of his collarbone to the other. Frank thought about the coffee sitting next to his bandmate, sitting un-sipped and slowly turning cold. If Frank weren't so polite, he would have thrown in the towel to fuel his caffeine cravings by now.  


The tattooed New Jersian peered at his reflection: a permanent frown blessed his aging face.

As Frank pondered and Gerard scrolled and chewed on his gum like a bull chewing on cud, the man currently measuring his collarbone, for whatever reason, started to wrap the tape agonizingly slow around Frank's neck. Right on his Adam's apple.  


Frank cleared his throat.  


"Not too tight?"  


"N-no," he spluttered, "It's cool," his voice cracked, "I'm good."  


All of a sudden, Frank felt primitive. His body filled with warmth and his mind drifted from the mundane situation he previously found himself in. He was totally and utterly unprepared for this. The tape wrapped tightly around his neck, his oxygen slightly cut off and his blood flow, not at full capacity. He felt his fingertips start to vibrate, his heart began to race. He looked up at the ceiling as if God were to strike him down where he stood for his body reacting to such a thing. Frank closed his eyes, tried to think of things outside of the tape around his neck.  


Gerard, the headless mannequin next to him, the tailor's fake teeth, the cold coffee...  


Time slowed down and came almost to a standstill. The tailor cinched the tape ever so slightly tighter, his thumb pressing down on Frank's neck as he noted down the number he was reading. Frank felt hot. His lower body started to react.  


  


Gerard, the mannequin, teeth, coffee...  


  


He opened his eyes. Maybe his reflection would turn him off.

He slightly looked to his right. He then slightly looked to his left. Back to his reflection. The glimpse of his own reflection with his neck taught and raw was too much. He looked up again.  


Images filled his mind, playing like a projector on his brain, memories of his previous encounters with being bound and choked provoking his fight or flight response. He felt his veins pulsate and adrenaline rushed through him from head to toe. Gulping, he felt his dick twitch. This was ridiculous, he thought, he didn't even find the tailor hot; it was purely physiological. It had been so long since he did anything of the sort, especially with the tour. He cursed his weak-willed manhood.

  


Gerard, mannequin, teeth...

  


He caught Gerard look up in his peripheral. It wasn't a glance; it was a stare. Frank was wired to be hyper-aware to all of Gerard's actions. The red-haired man's stare could have burned a hole in Frank's side, watching Frank's turmoil unfold with intensity and curiosity. Frank gulped. He felt like he was going to burst.

And then, it was over.  


His neck was released.  


Frank let out a great exhale, disregarding the tailor's instructions as he shook his hands and legs.  


"A break?"  


Frank nodded.  


Gerard was still looking.  


  


-

The water ran at full pressure as Frank splashed his face. He was radiating heat despite the cool, conditioned air. He looked at himself in the small bathroom mirror, cursing under his breath, calling himself many names that would make a sailor blush. He even went as far to stick his head under the tap, fill his mouth with water and spit it out into the sink. Leaning on the counter, muscles taut and shoulders broad, Frank sighed and gazed into the swirling water.  


Later that afternoon, after Frank had called it quits on the rest of the fitting, the bandmates had returned to their respective homes and Frank to his 4-star hotel in San Feliz. He was currently in the rooms’ bathroom, mulling over today's events. The hotel resided at the foot of the Hollywood hills, with the Way’s homes a 15-minute drive uphill amongst the cliff-top mansions. Frank was alone in his venture to Cali, and although he had many a friend on the west coast, he always felt homesick.  


He left the bathroom.  


There was a pool, a gym, a bar, lounge, you name it at his Hollywood lodging, yet now he found himself on his bed, buried under shopping bags and frowning at his phone as he checked Twitter.  


Gerard had posted:  


“Took a trip to Finches today. Big things happening soon. We are being measured by the ever-meticulous @samuelfernandez at @finchandsons in central LA. Here’s @frnkiero doing what he does best (standing still). xoxoG”  


Frank couldn’t even crack a smile. He wanted today to be over. He wanted to forget it. He wanted to pretend he still doesn’t take pleasure out of such… animalistic things. Gerard was even humiliating him virtually.  


He knew exactly what he was doing.  


That poor tailor wouldn't have known. The idea of him being so turned on and the young man not being aware... he felt disgusting. Plus, Gerard's 1000 yard stare, knowing full well what Frank was going through yet watching him with no intention of freeing him from that predicament.  


Fuck, Gerard had made a fool out of him.  


It was all so overwhelming; 'confused boner' would be putting it lightly.

He didn’t want to return to the boutique after that. He was decent physically, yet emotionally bare and scathed. He didn’t have the strength to go back in there for another half an hour or so of tape measure torture with his audience of one with the wandering eyes. He thanked his many decades of self-preservation for being able to keep his dick down and not receive a felony for public indecency. California is liberal, but not that liberal.  


With a sigh and a neck roll, Frank splashed his face once more and peeled off his soaked shirt, stepping into the shower.  


-

Frank had spent the next few days moping and ignoring his responsibilities as he caught up with local friends, visiting the LA gems and dining out with the band. Ray, Mikey, and Gerard had all been fitted. Frank still had yet to finish. It was a different excuse every day, however, today was his last chance and he had to put on his big boy pants to brave it.

He pulled the blinds, the California sun filling the room with light and warming up his bare skin. Hesitantly, he slapped together an outfit with minimal effort, brushed his teeth, spat into the sink for good luck and pulled on a t-shirt.  


His phone buzzed on the bedside table. A message:  


“I’m outside. G”  


Outside? Outside where? Was this on today’s agenda and Frank has pushed it out of his mind? He felt stupid for thinking for a moment Gerard might mean outside the window, despite the fact he was on the 4th floor.  


Then, the hotel room phone began to ring. Frank picked it up from the receiver.  


“Hello?  


Ah, yes. No no, don’t worry. Yes, I was expecting him,”  


A lie.  


“Uh, room,” he fumbled for his keycard, “room... um 403, yeah four-zero-three. Got it. Thanks.”  


That red devil. He’s lucky Frank was already awake.  


Frank sat on the end of the bed texting Dewees about Gerard’s possible prank as he waited for an inevitable knock.  


**Thud thud.**  


“Frank?”  


Frank got up and opened the door, “Fuck dude,” he sneered, “a little more warning next time.”  


“I brought you coffee,” Gerard replied, closing the door behind him. That rascal, Frank thought, he always gets away with the coffee thing.  


Frank then noticed Gerard holding a humongous, portfolio-like canvas bag slung over his shoulder. ‘I’ll get that’, Frank murmured, taking the coffees out of Gerard’s hands as he juggled the huge bag, the coffees, and his car keys.  


“They didn’t have soy so I got almond.”  


Frank smiled, “I wasn’t aware of the west coast soy milk crisis.”  


Gerard let out a wry chuckle as he rubbed his face.  


Taking a gigantic mouthful of coffee, Frank eyed up the mystery bag.  


“Can I…?” Gerard asked, pointing his thumb towards the bathroom door. Frank nodded with a ‘yeah, sure’ and returned to the edge of the bed, checking his phone for gossip. He messaged Mikey about his brothers’ impromptu arrival, to which Mikey replied ‘I’m not his mom’. 15 years of friendship and they still bickered like children.  


Frank noticed Gerard was taking a while, and whilst he wasn’t about to ask his almost 40-year-old friend if he was doing a number one or a number two, he did want to know why he turned up to Frank’s hotel room just to use the toilet.

He heard some fumbling and the tap being run, then the door began to open slowly. Frank didn’t need to do an ocular patdown on his friend but out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Gerard was no longer donning his jeans & white jacket combo. Frank did a double take.  


“No way!” was all that he could say.  


“How do I look?” Gerard asked, his lip doing that funny thing it always does.  


The redhead was wearing a suit, the black suit needed for the awards season to be exact. It was plain yet proper, the tie was thin and the details simple yet refined. Even with Gerard’s slight hunch, he looked tall and important. Despite feeling left out by the fact that he still had yet to even finish the fitting session, Frank was oddly captivated by Gerard’s presence in the suit. The man could look good in a trash bag for god’s sake, but he had always worn suits very well. Frank looked him up and down a few more times before speaking.  


“It looks killer man,” he said, his expression one of excitement, “yeah, we’ll definitely win the Best Dressed category.” Frank and Gerard shared a laugh as Frank scanned the suit, “Yeah, man, no you totally rock that.”  


Gerard exhaled, “Oh thank God, we don’t have to wear the killjoy costumes.” They both giggled again, the two of them sharing a love/hate relationship with the tight fitting, sweat-inducing leather ensembles that were the Killjoy get-ups.  


Gerard took a sip of coffee, his hand on his hip and explained to Frank how he would also have his suit by now if he had finished the sitting. Frank spouted some garbage about the label and how the tailor made him uncomfortable, not at all owning up to his own discomfort with the events that unfolded a few days ago. Frank argued that anyone can measure a body part with half a brain.  


“Actually,” Gerard sat the coffee down, “that’s why I came, sorta.” He reached down to the canvas bag on the floor and unzipped it, his tie almost tickling Frank’s feet as he was still perched on the bed.  


The bag unveiled another suit, identical to Gerard’s, but most likely smaller.  


“Shit, I don’t have an excuse now.” Frank jeered. Gerard replied with an ‘uh-huh’ and zipped it back up. “He used estimates but wants you to go over a few spots just in case he needs to make any amendments.”  


Frank felt bad. The guy was genuinely nice. He didn’t even have to step foot back into that circle of hell and embarrass himself all over again. He had to measure himself? That can’t be too bad, he thought. He pondered asking Gerard for help, however.  


Gerard reached into a smaller side pocket of the bag and pulled out a tape measure.  


“They said we could borrow this.”  


Frank gulped. He was having second thoughts.  


“Come on, get up. Up, up, up ‘n attem.” Gerard gestured Frank to stand up.  


Frank let out a crooked smile and a curse as he stood up from his bed. Gerard mentioned how the top half was mostly okay, but the tailor didn’t get a good chance to his legs and biceps. Gerard, grabbing Frank’s ankles and pushing them firmly to the ground, then began to start hastily.

“The multi-talented fucking man.” Frank cursed as he looked down at the redhead at his feet. The man laughed slyly then stood all the way up, breaking down all personal boundaries between the two men as their coffee breaths intertwined.

“Don’t worry, I’m not gonna fuck it up.”  


“That’ll be the last thing you ever say, I bet.”  


The two exchanged bickers, quarrels, and chuckles as Gerard made his way around Frank’s biceps, making good work out of the tape measure and showing up Frank’s lack of fashion related skills. Gerard explained that his short drag phase gave way to his understanding of sewing and clothing amendments. He should have guessed.  


Gerard then grabbed Frank’s wrist to hold it level as he wrapped the measure around it. There was a moment of silence.  


Gerard penciled down the measurement on the notepad on the floor then made his way to the shorter man’s other wrist. The tape, cold pressed against his skin, was slowly pulled tight. Gerard quickly glanced up and the two made short eye contact. He went back to his trade, ever so slowly pulling the tape tighter, and tighter. And tighter.  


His eyes peered up again, locking his gaze with Frank’s as he pulled the tape so impossibly taut that Frank’s hands began to feel cold. Frank did nothing. He knew better this time. He cleared his throat.  


Without looking away, Gerard released the tape measure, completely ignoring the numbers he needed to be jotting down. The TV murmured behind them.  


Gerard moved down to the chest area, repeating the same procedure under the armpits, then to the ribs, then to the mid-stomach area.  


“Let’s hope that we don’t have a huge meal before the show.”  


Frank scoffed, “yeah probably,” he inhaled sharply as Gerard pulled the tape closer together, cinching his waist slightly, “I’ll probably-”  


Gerard let go.  


He exhaled.  


“-I’ll probably just go for a tobacco-based meal.”  


“Haha!” Gerard laughed, bending down to his notepad to scribble some numbers. Frank hoped Gerard knew what he was doing.  


Gerard then moved back up to Frank’s navel, propping himself on his knees, his head at complete level with Frank’s nether regions and still continued to maintain the most focused and job-oriented attitude as he began to take Frank’s hip measurements. Gerard exhaled, his breath warm on Frank’s navel. The tape snaked around his body, creasing his shirt, slowly pulling his skin and muscle uncomfortably inwards. Frank cleared his throat again - a nervous tic - and made sing-songy noises with his mouth.  


Pull.  


Frank inhaled.  


Pull.  


Gerard’s nose was almost touching the skin between Frank’s boxers and the hem of his shirt.  


Pull.  


Frank closed his eyes tightly. He was seeing stars.  


Release.  


He opened his eyes, regrettably looking down at Gerard who was mischievously looking up at Frank in an almost pornographic way, his mouth slightly open and his eyes sparkling. He wrote down a number on the paper without looking away.  


“Now I’ve gotta do your in-leg, alright?”

“Mhm.” Frank nodded hurriedly; he just wanted this to be done. My god, he just wanted this whole suit fiasco to end. He wanted Gerard to leave so he could pull himself off in the shower and then spend the entire flight home never thinking about it ever again. Frank felt lightheaded, he felt hot again, he felt like his feet and hands were on fire and he hated the fact that his restraint seemed to fail him the more Gerard teased.  


Gerard, now back to focus-mode, pulled the tape slowly up Frank’s inside leg, excruciatingly slightly brushing Frank’s bare skin as his hands made his way upwards. Oh, how he wanted this to never end as much as he wanted it to be over. Gerard’s hands went up, and up, and up.  


The top of his hand was barely touching the end of Frank’s member as Gerard looked up and had the audacity to speak in a cheery voice: “Did you grow taller, Frank?”  


“Oh, fuck you,” Frank replied, looking upwards and away from the man currently starting a fire in his body’s nervous system.  


Gerard muttered some numbers and then, with a crack of his back, got upwards from his kneeling position and back to facing Frank, towering over him. He had the upper hand, quite literally.  


“Arms up again.  


…  


Thanks.”  


Gerard grabbed both the wrists to resume the level position. Frank’s body filled with warmth from head to toe. He was beginning to lose control of his physiological reactions. It’s normal, he repeated in his head, it’s all normal and Gerard is just messing.  


Glancing at the Jersian, Gerard licked his bottom lip and then began to drape the paper tool across Frank’s shoulders. He then suddenly retracted and wrang the tool around his neck, as a legitimate tailor does.  


Fuck, he thought, is this part necessary?  


Gerard then began to slowly, slowly trace his both his hands and fingertips across Frank’s outstruck arms. Frank got goosebumps. He let out a barely audible gasp. Gerard leaned closer in, the metal of his wedding band ever so slightly touching Frank’s skin, the cold filling Frank with a kind of shock; one that wasn’t unpleasant.  


Without warning, Gerard suddenly wrapped his thumb and index finger around Frank’s wrists, tightly squeezing. Frank’s veil of restraint shattered before him. He felt his lower half begin to heat up, his head spinning. Gerard and Frank locked eyes for a moment as the redhead squeezed, then began to fold Frank’s arms behind him, ever so slowly. Frank looked at him, puzzled yet obliging. Whatever was happening right now was not going to end here.  


Without a word, Gerard, releasing one hand and grasping both Frank’s wrists with the other, began to pull on his black tie. He started to undo it, starting with the top button of his shirt and then loosening the tie until the knot was free.  Frank looked up at the suited man standing over him - fuck, it was such a dominating look. Frank felt his eyelids slightly drooping and his control over his arousal failing with every second. Gerard drew him closer, their bodies flat against each other. He then began to wind the black-tie slowly around Frank’s restrained wrists, making sure to keep it tight and the knot secure.  


“Gonna jot down a number?” Frank said, barely above a whisper. Gerard leaned in, speaking into his ear in a voice that only a few get the chance of hearing:  


“Keep your mouth shut, or I’ll put a tie in it too.”  


It sent shivers down Frank’s spine, his cock twitching. He abruptly jutted his hips forward desperately, his crotch meeting with Gerard’s.  


Gerard’s hands release Franks now bound wrists, pulling him in closer and snaking his right hand up Frank’s back at a snail’s pace. Frank gasped, every touch and every sensation was driving him insane and he was loving it. Frank loved Gerard’s hands: long fingers, calloused tips, yet gentle if he needed to be. His fingers wound around Frank’s hair - which was currently just an inch long - and then suddenly pulled, Frank’s head tilting back, his throat exposed and his mouth agape.  


“You’re too desperate, Frankie,” he breathed, pulling tighter, “that poor kid fitting your suit…”  


Frank let his senses run wild, his cock beginning to stretch against his boxers as he let out little whines.  


“...I think you deserve to be punished for that.”  


Gerard’s voice was breathy and hot, his remarks immediately being stored in the back of Frank’s mind for another late and lonely night. Frank wanted nothing but that. But he wanted it worse than Gerard was willing to give. He had to provoke him.  


“Oh yeah?” he murmured, rocking his hips forward and standing on his toes.  


He then reached to the nook of Gerard's neck.   


“Try me.”  


Gerard then placed his hand on the shorter man’s chest, pushing him back towards the bed. It was over in a flash; Gerard pinned Frank down with his weight, his crotch directly above Frank’s both of their cocks touching but barricaded by their clothes; it was driving Frank wild. His wrists ached already, yet that just made him crave it more. By instinct, Frank pushed his hips upward as much as he could but was apprehended by Gerard’s body as he pushed his thighs together, further limiting Frank’s movements.  


“Oh no, you don’t.”  


Frank then did the unthinkable: he spat right at Gerard, the blob of spit landing on Gerard’s suit. He then smirked. If this wasn’t asking to be bound then he doesn’t know what is.  


“You wanna take that to be dry-cleaned?” Frank sneered, knowing that his smirk would only make Gerard want him more. Gerard’s demeanor then changed. He suddenly felt larger, hotter, his eyes ablaze. The man on top of Frank then reached onto the floor, fumbling around the bag that his suit came in, and pulled out another tie: Frank’s tie.  


“I’m sure your mouth is too pretty to waste for this tie…” Gerard uttered, “but I know that if it goes around your neck you’ll beg to be fucked.”  


Every word Gerard said was an aphrodisiac, and the way he said just made Frank more desperate. He spoke firmly, but not loudly; quietly, his voice like liquid, filling Frank up to the brim and in serious danger of overflowing. God, if only the fans could hear that voice.

Gerard then bent over and whispered into Frank’s ear without a moment's hesitation: “You wanna do this, right?”

He nodded and they both gave each other an affirming look as Gerard began to wrap the tie around Frank’s neck. He felt Gerard shift slightly, their cocks rubbing and Frank let out an exasperated moan. Gerard looked so pretty, Frank wanted to ravage him, and god, that suit, he never wanted him to take it off. He felt waves of pleasure rush over him and he felt tingly, dizzy, just like in the boutique. Gerard tied the fabric around Frank’s neck and left a length of the tie free. He then suddenly grabbed it and pulled Frank’s head upwards. They locked mouths. Finally, he could touch Gerard, he could feel him, the floodgates had opened and the kiss was brutally rough. Fireworks. They hadn’t kissed since 07. He just wanted to fuck Gerard’s throat silly but knows he hasn’t earned that yet.

Their tongues intertwined and Gerard’s free hand went upwards Frank’s shirt. Every finger, every second; Frank was fit to burst already. Gerard released the tie and then pulled Frank’s shirt up. He leaned down, the movement causing their lower halves to rub again and Frank whined.  


“Your body..” Gerard said, licking the skin beneath him in-between light kisses, “Frank, you torture me…” he moved the shirt further up, flicking his tongue across Frank’s nipple, pulling the tie again and causing Frank to let out a small moan.  


The shirt, pulled all the way up to Frank’s neck, was then pulled over his mouth by Gerard, his teeth obligingly clamping down on it.  


“You can’t make too much noise.”  


Gerard then did the unthinkable and began to grind against Frank, his cock failing to stay inside the constraints of his boxers and a small trail of precum soaking his underwear. Gerard bit his lip and extended his throat, making an unbearably sexual ‘o’ face as he grind his cock against Franks through his pants. Frank moaned through the fabric of his shirt, Gerard pulling the tie in short intervals as he felt Frank’s cock twitch each time, pulsating underneath him.  


“Frank…” he voiced breathily, “God, ah - I wanna fuck you.”  


Frank, quietly moaning through his shirt, pushed his hips upwards as if to say ‘yes please’. Gerard looked back down and hurriedly pulled the shirt out of his mouth.  


“Say you want it.”  


“Fuck… I want it.”  


“Yeah?”  


Gerard, still rocking back and forth, began to curl his fingers around Frank’s mouth and under his tongue. Frank’s tongue wound around Gerard’s digits, his lips smacking and letting out small whines as he sucked desperately, wishing it were rather Gerard’s cock. Gerard’s fingers went further in and Frank bobbed his head up and down, the fingers ever so slightly tapping the back of his throat. Gerard pulled them out, soaking and dripping, leaving a string of saliva down Frank’s chin. An ungodly sight that Gerard will definitely remember: Frank, sprawled out on the bed, hands tied behind his back and his beautiful, tattooed skin on display, his cock peeking out of his boxers, hair disheveled and a trail of spit oozing out of his mouth after he desperately sucked on Gerard’s fingers like a loud mouth whore.  


They’re definitely going to hell.  


Gerard pulled Frank’s boxers down to his ankles and lifted his legs up, knees up and bent, his body on full display; Gerard could just eat him up.  


Leaning back in and returning to the tie around Franks’ neck, Gerard’s fingers wondered to Franks’ entrance as he fingered around his hole, teasing him, feeling his cock twitch and shudder underneath his.  


Pull.  


He put one finger in.  


Pull.  


Two.  


Pull.  


He rubbed his insides, fucking him slowly with his fingers as he pulled on the black tie around Frank’s dripping neck.  


“Ahh… fuck,”  


“Mm?”  


“Ge-..rard…”  


Franks' hips bucked as Gerard moved his fingers around, then noticed cum dribbling down onto his hand.  


Gerard pulled the fingers out.  


“Frank..”  


He was breathing laboriously.  


“I asked you to beg for it.”

“A-gain..”

“Speak up."  


“Fuck me.”  


Gerard then hastily pulled the shirt back up over Frank’s mouth, unbuttoned his trousers and pulled out his cock, tugging on the tie roughly as to show Frank he’s not fucking around for being so disobedient.  


“You’re such a slut, Frankie. All those shirtless photos, when you fuck your guitar on stage…”  


Gerard entered Frank’s hole, agonizingly slow, as he brought life back into Frank’s dick. Frank let out a drawn-out moan through his stuffed mouth as he pushed his hips up, begging for Gerard to go deeper.  


“...and almost coming from just my fingers?”  


Frank released a struggled groan as Gerard stopped.  


“...and wanting it still?”  


He aah’ed, his body aching with both pleasure and pain, his wrists burning and his head dizzy: it was too much. He needed to be fucked, now.  


“Mmmhn...!”  


Gerard slipped out, watching Frank screw up his face as he then pushed back in. It was tantalizing, he made the same faces on stage but this time it was because he’s begging for Gerard’s thick cock.  


The two men began to rock against each other, Gerard letting out sighs and digging his fingers into Frank’s fleshy thighs. He slowly pulled out and then rammed himself forward, filling up Frank’s insides as moans spilled from both of their mouths. Gerard looked down at Frank and remembered the look on his face at the fitting the other day as the tailor wrapped the tape measure around his neck; god, he could have fucked him then and there on that velvet carpet, with all those mannequins and mirrors watching over them as Frank humiliated himself with his vile, filthy need to be tied up and overpowered. Gerard dug his fingers deeper, knowing with every thrust and every moan, Frank wanted the pain to go along with the pleasure. Gerard leaned down and began to make out with Frank despite the shirt stuffed between his teeth, soaking the fabric and leaving dripping spit all down Frank’s front.  


Gerard then moved to Franks’ neck, swishing his tongue over scorpion tattoo before biting down and sucking like a thirsty vampire. Frank dragged out a moan and began to use all his strength to grind against Gerard’s thrusts, his cock aching.  


“Frank… fuck,” the redhead slurred, “I’m not gonna last-”  


“Mmmh…”  


Fucking him hard and fast, Gerard decided Frank deserved to speak. He tugged the shirt from out of his mouth, looking at him with fierce intensity as he thrust inside of Frank, ramming his walls and making Frank squirm and writhe.

“Finish..” Frank breathed, “finish- ‘n my mouth..”

Gerard’s cock pulsed,

“Oh yeah? You want it like that, yeah? So filthy, Frank..” Gerard replied, exasperated, pulling Frank’s necktie as he thrust hard so as to shake Frank’s body from the inside out before exiting his hole. Gerard propped himself over Frank’s chest, his eyes watery and sweat falling off of his brow. He looked incredible. Gerard placed his cock over Frank’s mouth as the man beneath him stuck his tongue out like a common whore, his eyes closed and neck extended. It was fucking magical. Gerard could get off to that image alone.  


Frank’s tongue on display, Gerard started to touch himself, rocking into his hand and letting out moans he had been holding back until now, being the attention slut that the crowds knew all too well - just not this kind. Gerard couldn’t stop looking at Frank beneath him, waiting for his little gift, it was going to drive Gerard over the edge. He tugged on his dick, grinding his crotch on Frank’s face, his body filling up with heat and his lower half buzzing, his mind whirling -  


“Hah... Frank- fuck... “  


Frank bucked his hips upwards.  


“I’m - ah, fuck, Fran-”  


Gerard reached climax with the image stapled in his mind, releasing himself all over Frank’s mouth and face, cum falling onto his tongue like pixie dust and his body vibrating with pleasure. He felt like he was going to collapse, but Frank still deserved a reward for being so good.  


Almost tumbling back onto his feet, Gerard grabbed Frank’s cock, still rock-hard, and wrapped his tongue around it hungrily. He bobbed his head up and down the shaft, watching Frank wriggle and groan, then proceed to put his 2 fingers back inside his hole, licking him and fucking him with his fingers, wrapping his hand tight around the base of Frank’s cock.

“You wanna come?”

“Y-yeah… please-”

Gerard pulled his fingers out, still tightly holding Frank’s shaft.

“Beg me.”

Frank’s cock twitched and shuddered. It was oozing already.

“Gerard-!”

The redhead without hesitation then put his mouth back on Frank’s member, using his other hand to jerk him off as he awaited Frank’s orgasm.

“Fuck-!”

Gerard went down on Franks' dick, thumbing the head and spreading precum up and down the shaft, tightly wrapping his fingers around the other mans' length. Gerard looked up, Frank looking desperate and slutty: tied up, sweaty, dripping and desperate to reach orgasm. The redhead continued to swallow and fill his throat with Frank's precum, every now and then pulling off to give Frank the eyes, leaving a thin, sticky trail of saliva from the head to his chin. Gerard's mouth felt so good, pleasure flowed through every inch of his body as the feeling of the warm, wet and inviting mouth pushed Frank to the edge. 

Gerard reminisced of all the times Frank would tease by wearing his jeans almost falling off of his hips, his v-line, and thin snail trail that was almost always on display. He was just asking for his cock to get sucked. All those Instagram and twitter poolside pictures, where his beautiful swallow tattoos were just taunting the fans, Frank loved the attention. He knew what he was doing.

A stifled moan escaped the guitarist as Gerard began to move his fingers up and down Franks' member, Frank barely being able to stay still as he felt sparks and fireworks begin to fly throughout his body. The moans got louder as Gerard touched and licked him, Frank opening his eyes for a moment and looking down at the unbearably sexy view at his feet. Gerard swished his tongue across the top and then took the whole length into his mouth, his throat filling up with hot cum as Frank squirmed, coming with a strained moan and his legs thrashing, bucking up into Gerard's mouth as weeks of sexual frustration unraveled in just a few moments.

“A-h, ah...

I’m sorry... G-”

Gerard licked his lips, finishing what he had started in the most depraved manner, wiping his chin with his thumb and leaning back onto his feet. 

“You’ve been good, Frank”

Frank was breathing heavily, his body trembling and still seeing stars, his cock still leaking slightly and adding to the many fluids covering his skin. 

“But you still need that suit.”

Gerard then stood up, grabbed his notepad, then proceeded to the bathroom, turned the shower and left Frank on the bed, covered in spit and cum, still wrapped in ties.

He guessed he wasn't finished with him yet.

-

As crickets sang and cool air flowed into Franks' room, the blinds flapping slightly in the midnight breeze, the New Jersey native was on his phone as per usual, TV humming in the background. He had showered, again, and returned to the boutique to finish the fitting. It went surprisingly well and there were no bandmates in sight to stand around and make passing comments about his stature and the like. With the creation of the suit currently set in motion, Frank was finished with his trip to LA and was homeward bound the next morning. It was off to the UK in a few weeks to wear the damn suit, then to wrap it up in a box to waste away in a storage compartment somewhere for the rest of his days. Or, he thought, the suits could be used for something else...

No, no more depravity. 

His phone then pinged, a notification that Gerard had posted.

"We can't wait to see you at the NME Awards soon, Mr @danielpcarter hosting, thank you for all the kind words and nominations, we are very proud to be up against some amazing competition. Here's the outfit I planned for that night... currently at my local laundromat. G"  


Frank tutted. Had he no shame? He had concluded that Gerard probably gets off to this. 

With a click, Frank turned his phone off for the night, let out a deep exhale and looked up at the ceiling. 

Next time, it will just be a shirt and jeans. 

* * *

 

 


End file.
